


the next tornado home

by littledust



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-13
Updated: 2012-08-13
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/pseuds/littledust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They pull up in a cloud of Midwest dust that clears to blazing blue skies and scruffy brown bushes. The bar is far enough in the middle of nowhere that it doesn't even have a name, just a sign so chipped that more wood than paint is visible. Clint's sweating the instant they get out of the car. Natasha looks too glamorous for the place for about half a second before her posture shifts and she's just a pretty woman looking for a cold beer. She catches Clint looking and smiles, looping her arm through his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the next tornado home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashen_key](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashen_key/gifts).



> Written for the promptathon at LJ's be-compromised. Title from "Everyday" by Mike McGee, as prompted by the wonderful ashen_key.

They go to a bar, of course.

They pull up in a cloud of Midwest dust that clears to blazing blue skies and scruffy brown bushes. The bar is far enough in the middle of nowhere that it doesn't even have a name, just a sign so chipped that more wood than paint is visible. Clint's sweating the instant they get out of the car. Natasha looks too glamorous for the place for about half a second before her posture shifts and she's just a pretty woman looking for a cold beer. She catches Clint looking and smiles, looping her arm through his.

They take strange vacations.

Inside, the bar hosts a handful of denim-clad locals who look to be celebrating the end of the workday. The bartender takes a look at Natasha and starts to smile, then meets her eyes and says "ma'am" as he slides them both their drink orders. Clint's glass is already sweating and his first gulp drains half the glass. She watches the line of his throat as he swallows; he catches her looking on the way to watching her mouth on her beer bottle. Natasha likes drinks that come in containers that double as weapons.

They'll be on their way to a motel soon.

"Take a picture," Clint tells her, and winks. Natasha rolls her eyes. She never flirts much on vacation, says it reminds her too much of work. She shifts closer to him, though, pressing her arm against his despite the heat. He wraps an arm around her waist; she slides a hand into his back pocket. She has her hair in a ponytail and sweat-damp tendrils of hair are stuck to the back of her neck.

They finish their drinks and leave a twenty on the table.

After ten minutes on the road, Natasha pulls over on a deserted stretch of road. She rolls down the windows, kills the engine, and asks, "Want to do something stupid?" Clint's already reaching for her, kissing her hard enough that it hurts. She climbs into the passenger seat to straddle him; he reclines the seat so she doesn't bang her head on the roof. He's hard already, with his hands under her shirt and his pants half-off. She pulls her mouth of his with a red smile and tears open the condom wrapper she must have filched from his wallet.

They fuck in the front seat of their rental car like idiot teenagers.

Clint swears when he comes, fingers digging into her hips. Natasha is still riding him, making soft, guttural sounds. He traces a line across her abdomen, fingernail scraping lightly against soft skin, before he presses a finger against her clit. She arches against him, greedy for more, her hair spilling out of its ponytail. He cants his hips and he tilts his hand. She gasps and slams her fist against the window so hard it cracks.

They start laughing and don't stop until a cell phone starts ringing.

Natasha gets to his phone first. "Romanoff," she says, then clears her throat and pitches her voice lower. "Barton," she corrects herself. Clint bites his knuckles to keep from outright guffawing. "Uh-huh. Stark did what? Understood." She hangs up. "We're wanted back at HQ. Our new HQ. Vacation's over." She smiles and Clint has to kiss her again.

They head home, kicking up dust as they go.


End file.
